


Codex: Hope for the People

by stormthedarkcity



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Codex Entries (Dragon Age), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:26:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22932502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormthedarkcity/pseuds/stormthedarkcity
Summary: The legends surrounding Inquisitor Lavellan grow with each passing day.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Codex: Hope for the People

**Author's Note:**

> This was a [codex prompt fill](https://stormthedarkcity.tumblr.com/post/183899391848/) following the topic "someone describing a time your OC helped them".

I thought I was going to die there. The Keeper warned me not to go, but I was curious, you know how I am. I didn’t see anything from the forest, but as soon as I was out in the open it was already too late. There was a dozen of them, maybe, those tainted Templars with red eyes and crystals growing from them, scattered across the hill. They didn’t all notice me, at first, there was just a couple of them who saw me. Or caught my scent, I don’t know. They’re…animals. Not just brutish like shems so often are, but… They behave like beasts. The moment their gazes caught mine I realised there was no negotiating with them.

All I had was my bow, and a handful of arrows. Against these creatures, I had no chance. I still shot at them as they were running towards me, arrow after arrow, until they started slipping from my fingers, and then I closed my eyes and called to Faldon’Din to guide me safely wherever I was heading. I heard thunder, and it took me a second to realise that there had been no cloud in the sky that morning.

When I opened my eyes, the hill wasn’t just filled with roaming Templars anymore. There were people fighting them, with bigger swords we’ve ever carried, and so much rage. I saw where the thunder had come from. It sprung again from a man’s staff as he slammed it into the ground; and it flew straight to the Templar closest to me, one bright blue bolt of lightning ripping the air open. The Templar fell. The other one was already laying dead, further up the hill. The man ran to me, and I realised I’d fallen to my knees, but I couldn’t even feel the pain of my skin having split open when I hit a rock, because as he was coming closer I could see it. The shape of his face, the tips of his ears neatly detaching against the blue-white sky.

I’d taken him for a shem, but he was one of the People! When he crouched by me I saw the markings of Mythal, the Protector, and I knew he’d chosen wisely. He was a mage, and we all know that being one of the People doesn’t protect us from the Templars; they rip us from our clans regardless. But this man – a mage with Mythal’s markings – he stood in front of Templars and threw lightning bolt after lightning bolt at them, regardless of the consequences, just because he’d seen a stranger in need of assistance.

He asked me if I was alright, and he helped me up, but that’s when something stranger happened. The others with him, the fighters, they all walked up to us, wiping sweat from their brows and blood from their weapons, and they said – they called him – they called him _Inquisitor_.

The Inquisitor is one of the People. I saw him. His hand glows bright green, like the tear in the sky used to, and he doesn’t conceal it. It would be so easy to wear a glove, to keep it out of sight, but he doesn’t hide the magic in his hand. Nor does he hide Mythal’s blessing on his face. He braids his hair back and his ears are free, and there is no shame, no fear in the way he moves.

When he told the others to keep moving, they obeyed without a second thought. They were all shems, coarse and conniving as shems often are, who could all send him to the Circle or lock him up in their filthy cities by merely raising their voices, and yet none of them hesitated.

If he truly has the power that the stories say he does; maybe there’s a chance for the People. And maybe there’s a chance for mages.

_\- A story told around the campfire by a young elven man._


End file.
